Love and Pixy Sticks
by Harper Robedeaux
Summary: J/D- Candy really CAN bring two people together


1 Title: Love and Blue Pixy Stix  
  
Author's Name: Harper Robedeaux  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Category: Humor, Romance, and Josh/Donna  
  
Disclaimer: I have no association with the West Wing or Pixy Stix or Pink Floyd or Sarah Brightman (though I love all four). I just thought I'd write a simple little love story.  
  
10:50 PM  
  
Yet another one of those long nights in the West Wing. I'm sitting at my desk, for once tonight with nothing to do but think and slowly down this package of Pixy Stix while Pink Floyd's The Final Cut is playing at a reasonable level on my computer. It's only me and Josh tonight. I think about my past, present, and future. Y'know, I've always been interested in Politics and Science, which is probably why I majored in Political Science. But I was a wild child in high school, hard as it may be to believe, which is probably why I only got into a state school and hence dropped out. Oh well. Now a day, I get first hand experience at Political Science in action. Assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff for 3 years and counting will probably look good on the next resume I have to mail out.  
  
Why did I go for Dr. Freeride in the first place? I've been pondering that question for the last 7 or 8 pixy stix, or since "Get Your Filthy Hands off my Deserts." The current song being "Southampton Dock." Those days diffidently were not the happiest of my life. How I could I be so naïve? I could have just stayed in the gutter. And yet here I am, in a respectable job. Yeah. The pay is crap, but I'm doing something I love. With the man I love at that. Oops, that one slipped out. Don't tell anyone I said that, will you?  
  
Ooh, "The Final Cut!" My favorite song of the whole album. I turn the speakers up just a notch and continue devouring my pixy stix. I have a whole system of eating them; first I eat green, the orange, then red, finally blue. I never eat purples. You know, they next put enough blue in.  
  
"Josh," I call out.  
  
A rather tired looking Josh stands at his doorway. I can tell he had been sleeping because of the paperclip indentations on his forehead. His sleeves were rolled up on his sky blue dress shirt, and his tie and jacket were absent from the ensemble. His hair was even more roughed up then normal and his eyes were barely open. I can't help but smile. He stretches and says, "What Donna?"  
  
Still smiling, I hold up a blue pixy stick and say, "Why are there never enough blue pixy sticks in a pack?"  
  
He sighs and even smiles a bit and said, "I don't honestly know, Donna."  
  
"The should put more in there if they really love me," I say, starting to feel all the sugar I've eaten catch up to me. And yet I check myself right after I've said this. Ick, let's hope doesn't read TOO much into that.  
  
Josh gives me a strange look, and then eye's the growing pile of pixy stick wrappers on my desk. He lets out a chuckle and says, "I'll arrange a meeting with Willy Wonka tomorrow," as he ventures back into his office. He then pauses and walks back outside. "What song is this?"  
  
"The Final Cut by Pink Floyd," I respond, downing a blue pixy stick. Oh shit. some of it just went down the wrong pipe. I began to hack like a smoker.  
  
"It's a beauty. Donna, are you ok," he asked rather concerned as he kneels down beside me. I nod as I continue hacking. As soon as I've almost stopped, Josh takes the blue wrapper from my hand and says in a gentle, yet joking tone, "That's why there aren't that many blue pixy sticks, they're dangerous." There was a silence between us. There's certain electricity between us. Always has been, always will be. It's moments like these that I want to preserve in a tiny box and keep with me forever. But alas, all good things must come to an end.  
  
"Well, I'd better get back to work," he says getting up.  
  
"Josh, you've been sleeping, lets' just go home."  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
"I can see the paperclip indentations on your forehead," I say, stifling laughter.  
  
"Ok," he agrees, as we both gather out coats and head off to our separate residences.  
  
  
  
I unlock my door and head into my apartment, thinking of her beauty. She looked so happy, just sitting there, listening to Pink Floyd and eating pixy sticks. Neither of which I knew she had a favoring of. We really have never sat and talked. It's a pity.  
  
Several people have pointed it out to me, especially Joey Lucas, that Donna has a thing for me. If this is true, then my Fulbright Scholar self hasn't been able to see it. As Sam has said on multiple occasions, "Josh you can be so dense." This is true.  
  
A grin has just come across my face as I sit on my sofa. Yep, that's me with a brilliant scheme in my mind. She said at the office how if Pixy Stix loved her they'd make more blue ones. Maybe I should use that as my opening to show my love. Yes, Yes, Yes. Brilliant, Josh Lyman, absolutely brilliant. And I can use her birthday next week as yet another opening. The plan shall work beautifully.  
  
  
  
A week has gone by since the late night pixy sticks and Pink Floyd evening, and once again I am having another, only with Sarah Brightman's "La Luna" in place of "The Final Cut." I don't see why I have to work late after all it is my birthday. Stupid ass slave driver boss whose probably asleep at his desk. I made such a big deal about my birthday all week that you'd think I'd get the night off. But NOOOO! He hasn't even said anything. Maybe I should do something mean, like send some dead bats to his house. Why dead bats? Beats me. Oh well.  
  
This is some good music. Half of it's in some form of Romance language, one is in Russian opera, and the rest in is English. Ooh, this song in its title describes Josh, who is ironically it this moment in time staring at me from his doorframe. "He Doesn't See Me."  
  
When he passes me by  
  
He's a ray of light  
  
Like the first drop of sun  
  
From the sky  
  
And I know he's a king  
  
Who deserves a queen  
  
But I'm not a queen  
  
And he doesn't see me  
  
When he dances  
  
He moves me to a smile  
  
And I see everything  
  
Near him shine  
  
There's a grace in his ways  
  
That I can't contain  
  
I haven't that grace  
  
Oh, I haven't that grace  
  
And the closer he gets  
  
I can't help but hide  
  
So ashamed  
  
Of my body and voice  
  
There are boundaries  
  
We pass in spite of the war  
  
But our own  
  
We can't seem to cross  
  
She has a way that surrounds her  
  
So delicate  
  
With a glory that reigns in her life  
  
She is also so much that she is not  
  
These things I can't see  
  
'Cause he doesn't see me  
  
Oh-oh-oh ...  
  
And he doesn't see me  
  
There are things we can change  
  
if we just choose to fight  
  
but the walls of injustice are high  
  
When he passes me by  
  
He's a ray of light  
  
Like the first drop of sun  
  
From the sky  
  
And I know he's a king  
  
Who deserves a queen  
  
Someone other than me  
  
So different from me  
  
Oh-oh-oh ...  
  
He doesn't see me  
  
Oh-oh-oh ...  
  
He doesn't see me  
  
He doesn't see me  
  
  
  
"Donna, I'd have to say you have the most eclectic musical taste I have ever seen," I say as a look at her from the door. She's sitting there in a similar position as a week ago.  
  
"Is that so," she says with a hint of playfulness in my voice.  
  
"Yeah, I mean, last week it was Pink Floyd, and I think I heard opera a few minutes ago, and now it's sort of ethereal. Quite pretty, actually." I return to my desk and look at her and listen to the lyrics to the song. She gets this faraway look on her face, like she's about ready to cry. Like this song reminds her of someone who has either hurt her or someone who is unattainable.  
  
'Who could have possibly hurt her this time? Whoever it is will get himself an ass kicking,' my inner monologue began. I begin to rage before I'm suddenly taken aback. 'What if it was the later: someone who is unattainable? (Gasp) Could that someone be YOU?' Yeah, that's wishful thinking. I never let myself be optimistic; it sets me up for disappointment. Whoa, Toby is really starting to rub off on me. Well, like it or not, Donnatella Moss will see some true colors soon, of color, rather. That witty thought passes through my mind as I see the final senior staff member leave, so I know it will be safe.  
  
  
  
As soon as the final senior staff member has left, he calls me into his office. What could this possibly be about? He motions for me to shut the door, so I do and sit on his couch. He gets up and retrieves a wrapped box, and, with a hint of mischief on his face, sits down next to me.  
  
"Happy Birthday Donnatella," he said softly in my ear. I grin ear to ear as I open my present, seriously slapping myself for even considering mailing dead bats to his place. I see a cardboard box and do this thing that I used to do whenever I'd get something in a cardboard box.  
  
"Yay, cardboard," I say. He gives me this look, then chuckles a bit.  
  
"It's what's inside the cardboard, silly," he says warmly.  
  
"I knew that, I was just." I don't even have time to finish my sentence before I open this box to discover a whole case of blue pixy sticks. I look at him, and realizing I probably look like a goon, grinning over a case of blue pixy sticks. Then I look into his eyes about to thank him when I see something there. A spark of a certain emotion was missing from his complex before. I had only seen it a few times before, in moments of HIGH electricity.  
  
"Josh, am I expected to read something into this," remembering my remark about blue pixy sticks last week. I also remember his after I choked, but I doubt he's trying to kill me. I'm sitting here, worried about making myself a fool, praying his words will not be "Read what?" And if the are, I can always use the anecdote "I thought you were trying to kill me."  
  
He looks down at his hands. I don't if that's a good sign or bad. "Josh," I say with a hint of worry in my voice as I lift his chin up. He smirks a little bit and says softly, "Kind of."  
  
"You're not trying to kill me are you," I say, adding my bit of humor (Hey, it's a decent retort!). He looks confused for a second before it dawns on him.  
  
"Oh, good god no!" He laughs for a sec and then gets serious again.  
  
"What I was trying to tell you with this present is something I feel I should just come out and say. And it's a bit risky of me to."  
  
"Say it," Donna practically commands me. I love how she's always on top of her game.  
  
"I love you."  
  
Silence. Silence not good. 760 on verbal and this is all I can think. She was the one looking at her lap this time. So I am the one to use my hand to guide her eyes to meet mine. Dig the roll reversal.  
  
Uh oh, she's crying. Well, not really. Here eyes are glistening and you can see a single tear streak down her cheek. Talk about something beautiful.  
  
"Donna, why are you crying?"  
  
  
  
"Donna, why are you crying?"  
  
I smile and quickly give him my best damn effort at a kiss as a response. He's thrown back, but quickly kisses back. I thought to myself once on the campaign trail that if I started kissing him I'd never want to stop. It was only a brief fleeting thought. But oh how true it is.  
  
THE END!!! 


End file.
